


The Kids Cried Out

by FrozenHearts



Category: Halsey (Musician)
Genre: Concerts, Could be slash but not really, F/F, Gen, Music, Okay it's slight slash, One Shot, POV Second Person, kinda short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 02:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5147390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenHearts/pseuds/FrozenHearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halsey comforts a crying fan after one of her concerts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kids Cried Out

**Author's Note:**

> So I adore Halsey and all her music, and this fic was a prompt idea from tumblr user welcxme-to-the-new-broken-scene
> 
> This will probs be the only fic i ever write about a real-life person (it's so weird to write something about a living, breathing person, you know? Like I have all these thoughts of her finding this fic randomly now it's giving me anxiety omg)

You sat in the back of the theater, fingers curled around your ticket- the one you had gotten for your birthday. You were finally going to see her. In person. The ticket’s edges scratched your palms as you waited with bated breath for the show to start. Already, you started to sweat, and for a minute you contemplated taking off the shirt you purchased in the lobby of the venue. 

No. You decided to keep it on, even if you were wearing an insanely heavy sweater underneath. Every moment counted for you today. Even if you ended up covered in sweat. 

This was your birthday present. You were going to make every second count. 

The lights went down and you jumped up from your chair, whooping with excitement as blue and pink strobe lights swept across the stage. The standing area was packed; from the balcony seats, everyone looked like ants.

“Hello New _Yooooorrrrkkk!”_

You screeched along wit everyone else as Halsey greeted the audience, skipping on stage. She looked tiny, but you saw she was wearing a white jumper, her newly dyed blond hair looking almost white under the lights. You yourself dyed your hair blue after listening to her debut album. 

As the show began, more and more people rushed towards the stage. You held back, content with watching from afar. It wasn’t that you were uninvested, you just liked seeing people’s reactions, how they acted around others. You remembered seeing an elderly couple in the lobby with who you assumed was their granddaughter, how they asked “Eh? What was that?” after everything she said.

You looked around, eyes downcast as the show progressed. You had come alone. No one really listened to Halsey in your friend group, but you didn’t mind. But as she sang, you kept remembering those grandparents. They were with each other. 

You weren’t with anyone.

It was such a big event for you, this concert. Your birthday. And you were spending it alone. Pushing the thoughts away, you immersed yourself n the music, singing along with off-key noises getting wrangled from your throat. Pain laced through your ankles as you jumped up and down; you had decided to wear Doc Martens, the boots heavy on your feet. Whenever you walked around you felt like a giant squishing a tiny town underfoot.

And suddenly, it was all over. 

In a blur, the lights had faded and the house lights had come up. You blinked, allowing youself to be ushered into the lobby by sweaty bodies, roaming hands. Your hair was plastered to your face, your clothes damp. In the lobby, everything seemed bigger than it was. Your ears ringing, you stumbled along with the masses.

You didn’t notice someone laugh with their friend, sticking out their foot.

The rug burned your skin as you put your hands out, slamming your knees to the floor. Immediately, tears sprung to your eyes. Nothing was going right. This was supposed to be fun. Tonight was supposed to be about you, about the music. 

Now it was all wrong. 

Shoulders trembling, you did your best to quiet your crying to soft hiccups, sitting back on your heels as you wiped your eyes. 

“Hey!”

You looked around, expecting people to be gawking. Of course, some were- you weren’t exactly the most graceful person to walk the planet. But the voice came again, and you looked skyward.

There she was, standing over you, the chandelier lights creating a halo effect around her head. She held out a hand.

“You okay?”

You nodded, taking her hand hesitantly. Her grip was strong, and she carefully pulled you to your feet. Her skin was warm against yours as she took you by the shoulders, concern flashing in her eyes as you gaped, “Y-You’re Halsey. I’m sorry, Ash-”

“Why are you crying?” she asked, “Is something wrong?” You hung your head. The reason behind your tears was kind of stupid. You let your gaze fly to the line that went out the door, the one that was for fans with backstage passes. You didn’t get one, the price having been too expensive for one ticket alone. And that was for a balcony seat. You shrugged.

“I-it’s nothing-”

“Are you sure?” she cut you off, “you have rug-burn on your hand.” You looked down. You did, in fact, have an angry red imprint on the heel of your palm. Halsey- Ashley Frangipane, you weren’t really sure what to call her- kept her eyes trained on you, expectant and waiting.

And then you just blurted it out.

That you felt like shit at the moment, having just been tripped on purpose. That you had come alone. That it was your birthday- that you had come _alone on your birthday._

“Well,” Halsey wrapped an arm around you, steering you through the crowd, “we should fix that, shouldn’t we?”

“What?”

She jutted her chin towards the line, “Come backstage with me.” 

You shook your head, “I don’t have a pass.”

Halsey shook her head, pulling you close. Stumbling along, you wrapped an arm around her waist in return, trying to support yourself as she walked you both towards the backstage doors. 

“Really, I-” you tried protesting, but she silenced you with a quick kiss to the cheek.

“Nonsense,” she shushed you, “consider it a birthday present.”


End file.
